


if dust we are and unto dust we shall return

by inwardphae



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Letters, Love Confessions, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:46:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23914780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inwardphae/pseuds/inwardphae
Summary: I know why you were made. You were made to shine, the brightest star in the whole universe. But me? I was made to hold you, made in your image and likeness. And if dust we are and unto dust we shall return, for the time that has been given me on this earth and until I’m still breathing, there won’t be scorched earth enough to contain my longing for you.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 26





	if dust we are and unto dust we shall return

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my lovelies. 
> 
> This is a tiny thing I wrote for an LGBTQ+ writing contest organised by my university, a couple of months ago. Little did they know that it was about Bucky and Steve!  
> It's short, but it's raw. I hope you'll like it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Comments give me life!

Καὶ ἠγάπησαν οἱ ἄνθρωποι

μᾶλλον τὸ σχότος ἥ τὸ φῶς

Light has come into the world, but

people loved darkness instead of light.

John, III.19

November 1943

Somewhere in Italy

Steve,

I don’t know if I’ve ever told you how happy I am that you’re not here. How relieved I am that you are on the other side of that ocean that never in my life I thought I would cross. That you’re home, safe and warm.

I want you with me, every minute of every day, sometimes I think I miss you like I miss the air to breathe when we are marching for too long, or when the loneliness at night is too unbearable. It ain’t right that I’m here, it ain’t right that I’m probably not coming back, but I’d pick this icy and unwelcoming land every day if it meant that you’d never have to suffer the same.

I don’t think I’m allowed to write this stuff, and if it will get to you without censor marks then I’ll happily accept that goddamned blue ticket. I don’t care, Steve, I don’t care anymore.

I don’t think I am ever coming back, but I don’t know that I love you enough to ask you to let me go. I want you to be happy if the worst happens. I want you to go on with your life with that wobbly smile on your face and the determination of a lifetime, crooked spine and all, but I don’t want you to forget me. I can feel it in my bones this overwhelming fear that I wasn’t enough for you. Good enough, strong enough. That this war will be for nothing and that there is nothing I can do to spare you this pain. That I’ll be yet again another nameless face to the ages of ages, amen.

But if you can still paint my lips and the cut of my eyes on those canvases of yours, then I’ll welcome the darkness with open arms. It’s worth it. You are worth it.

“Will you be okay, without me?” you asked when I left, and the whimper I had to suppress was like a cold stone in my chest, tight and awful. “Will you be okay without me?” I nodded, I think. I learned ages ago to avoid dangerous questions. I have always been a good liar. But then, well, I almost hoped you’d see through my lies.

If this knot in my stomach hadn’t been with me since that god-forsaken day I met you, 15 years and a lifetime ago, then maybe I could have convinced myself that things were going to be alright, that one day I would have gathered the courage to take you aside and whisper to your ear that there is nowhere you could go that I can't follow, not if my body is warm and I’m still breathing.

But the thing is, I looked at you then like I did my whole life. Like you’re the sun and I’m just a planet orbiting around you, and if the sun is warm and right then for all the gravitational forces in me there’s nothing I can do but being attracted to it. I looked at you like I didn’t care about all the stories our mothers told us when we were kids, like I was living my own personal tragedy and no one else could have possibly understood. And there was only one realisation, then: that if I’m Icarus, then the sun will melt the wax that keeps my wings together. That's what the stories say, and it will be alright. It will be worth it. I wanted the sun too much. I wanted to feel its warmth in my veins.

The fall? That will be worth it too.

The thing is, Steve, this might be a tragedy, but I am not ready to be left on a deserted beach, like Ariadne, and be forgotten. But you, you’ve always been my light, within and around me. And my hands are too big and raw to hold yours with the delicacy that you deserve, my selfishness rasps too deep and so help me god I didn’t ever want to obscure you. You’re the light, Steve, and I’ve prayed too long to just be left in the darkness.

So be it, let me be darkness and let me crave for the light. If your lips are a promise and mine are a sin, then let them clash together and break the silence of centuries. If your absence is my absolution, I welcome judgement day with open arms, and I won’t ever be far enough from heaven.

I know why you were made. You were made to shine, the brightest star in the whole universe. But me? I was made to hold you, made in your image and likeness. And if dust we are and unto dust we shall return, for the time that has been given me on this earth and until I’m still breathing, there won’t be scorched earth enough to contain my longing for you.

Yours,

Bucky

* * *

A blue ticket was a discharge from the US Army that wasn’t dishonourable per se, but it essentially identified the recipient as a homosexual. After WW2 and with the introduction of the G.I. Bill, blue ticket holders were excluded from veteran privileges.


End file.
